


Perfect Imperfections

by Handle (Radically_Dreaming_Diri)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/F, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 11:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6702814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radically_Dreaming_Diri/pseuds/Handle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Identical AU (fem!dip) where the older!twins have returned to spend another summer in Gravity Falls. Both are trying to deal with their feelings for each other in a similar way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Imperfections

Dipper sat in place, her head tilted back, one hand pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Her head was pounding, her ears were ringing, and she could barely see from the blood and tears in her eyes. She sighed, leaning a shoulder and her tender head against the bathroom wall.

 

Ugh, she had been so stupid! She was out on a date she didn't even want to be on, with someone she didn't want to be there with, and she just _had_ to pick a fight. Why did she even agree to go out with that jerk in the first place?

 

_We just covered that, Dipstick. You're stupid._ Dipper bit back more tears, trying to stay as quiet as possible. She had sneaked back in to the shack, and had managed to make her way into her bathroom before anyone was the wiser. She didn't know why she was hiding, exactly, but Dipper didn't think she could handle more chaos at the moment. Mabel would feel guilty for setting them up. Stan would freak out. Dipper had no idea how Wendy would react. Probably by beating the jerk black and blue, and returning with his head on a platter. Dipper was in no mood to explain her current state, and she certainly didn't want some pity party. No, it would be better if she could just clean herself up now, and sneak off to bed.

 

As if on cue, the bathroom door flew open. Mable bounded in, humming tunelessly to herself.

 

“Oh Dipper! I didn't know you were–” The rest of Mabel's sentence was lost in an incoherent shriek, which did nothing for Dipper's headache. There was a beat of silence as Mabel looked at her twin in shock. Dipper could imagine how bad she had to look, swollen, bruised, and covered in blood. She tried to grin sheepishly at Mabel, but only managed to wince at her. That seemed to break whatever spell Mabel was under, and the next thing Dipper knew, Mabel was everywhere. She was sitting on the side of the tub next to Dipper, she was holding her head gingerly, she was at the sink, frantically looking for a washcloth, all the while asking Dipper a dozen questions that she didn't seem to hear. Dipper just sat, numbly accepting her sister's frantic care.

 

“Dipper?” That wasn't Mabel's voice. Dipper looked up to see Wendy and Stan standing in the doorway, wide eyed and aghast. So much for not making a spectacle out of this. Dipper couldn't meet anyone's eyes, couldn't bear to look at everyone's shocked expressions, so she settled for staring at a scrap of toilet paper she had used to try to clean her face.

 

_Good. Now everyone gets to see how stupid you are._ Dipper drew in a deep breath, fighting the urge to cry. Not now. Not in front of everyone. Mabel's voice had stopped. Everyone seemed to be waiting on Dipper. Dipper took several short breaths, quickly trying to compose her thoughts. She opened her mouth to speak.

 

_Stupid._ Dipper closed her mouth again. No. She was not going to cry like some whiny little baby, just because she got beat up.

 

_Little._ She just had to marshal her thoughts, speak about this calmly, and rationally. There really was no reason to do anything else. Be calm. Dipper opened her mouth to speak again, looking up at the concerned faces all around her.

 

_Dipstick._ Her mental argument deflated into a choked sob. Dipper felt Mabel sitting back down beside her, felt herself being pulled into a tight hug. Mabel had stopped asking for an explanation, she just sat with her sister, holding her as tight as she dared, waiting for Dipper to cry herself out. The more Dipper fought it, the harder she cried, until eventually she gave up, burying her face in her sister's shoulder.

 

_You're getting blood on Mabel's shirt. Damn it!_ With as much effort as she could muster, Dipper put a stop to her tears. By the time Dipper finished, Wendy had produced an ice pack, and Mabel was gently applying it to Dipper's head. She still couldn't look up, especially not now, so Dipper once again busied herself with staring at the floor, trying to still her shaking shoulders.

 

“Was it that boy?” Stan asked, after Dipper's tears had subsided. Dipper looked up, nodding glumly, and the room seemed to go cold. The worry on Mabel's face turned immediately to hot shame and guilt, and Stan's face seemed to contort with rage. Wendy went white with fury, her eyes narrowed, she stood still for several seconds, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. This was all going wrong. Dipper couldn't sit here through their inevitable freak out. She made to rise, pulling away from Mabel, who let go tentatively. Stan and Wendy didn't seem to notice, both of them apparently lost in loudly concocting the most painful revenge fantasy they cold muster.

 

“Please,” Dipper started, trying her best to be heard their increasingly wild and sinister plot, trying to get them to talk about something, about anything else. Dipper could feel her face getting redder. Why was this so embarrassing? She didn't do anything, and they were just trying to help. Why was this making things so much worse?

 

“This is so _fucking_ stupid _!_ ” Dipper snapped, shoving past Stan and Wendy, leaving them staring, open mouthed, as she bolted for her room. Wendy grabbed her arm, looking embarrassed, Stan winced at the sound of a slamming door. After a beat of silence, everyone exchanged a few furtive glances.

 

“I suppose we should go talk to her?” Stan addressed no one in particular. Wendy nodded in agreement, and Mabel hopped to her feet.

 

“Why don't you let me?” Mabel said, sounding more annoyed than she meant to. They could go off and plot their revenge somewhere else. Mabel would too, but it obviously wasn't doing Dipper any good, so she'd do it privately. Before anyone could object, Mabel had ushered them back downstairs, promising as many details as she could get before abandoning them in the living room. With that, Mabel shot back upstairs, and almost ran into the room she shared with her sister. She stopped herself before entering, taking a few deep breaths. The last thing Dipper needed was more surprises tonight.

 

Mabel tapped on the door before quietly sliding through. The lights were out, the only illumination coming from a nightlight between the twins beds. In the dim light, Mabel could see Dipper in her own bed, laying on top of the covers, facing a wall. Dipper's cloths had been unceremoniously tossed in a pile, and, judging by the bloody smear on the tank top that served as Dipper's pajamas, her nosebleed still hadn't quite stopped.

 

With great effort, Mabel refrained from scooping her twin up in a big bear hug. Withholding affection was not her forte, especially when Dipper looked like she could so desperately use some comfort, but Dipper had seemed so mad before. This was going to require a delicate touch. Mabel took an exaggerated time putting on her own nightshirt, before cautiously sliding into bed beside her twin.

 

“Dipper?” Mabel addressed the back of her sister's head. For a long time, it seemed Dipper was intent on ignoring her. Mabel cautiously placed a hand on Dipper's shoulder, and she just seemed to deflate, with a long, exasperated sigh. Dipper rolled over, glaring at her sister, but her expression softened instantly. For the second time, Dipper tried to smile reassuringly at her sister, and for the second time, she did little more than wince painfully.

 

“Dipper, I'm so sorry.” Mabel said, fighting back tears of her own. A combination of rage and guilt was burning in the pit of her stomach. At the sight of her sister, Mabel vowed mentally that she would visit a wrath upon jerk-face Jackson the likes of which he had never known. Then, of course, Dipper would never have been in this situation if Mabel hadn't pressed so hard to get her to accept the date. Dipper had made it plainly clear beforehand that she had wanted nothing to do with this, and had only agreed because of Mabel's pressuring.

 

_Way to go, Dipstick. Now Mabel thinks you hate her. She's obviously distraught, and you're just letting her fret. Some sister you are._

 

“Mabel,” Dipper said, if only to quiet her mind. She grabbed her sister's hand, still sitting halfway between them on the bed. She tried to think of something to say, something reassuring so her sister wouldn't worry, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, Dipper squeezed Mabel's hand, curling into her sister, laying her forehead against her chest. Dipper hoped that it would be enough. She didn't have it in her to explain herself, not now. Mabel reacted wordlessly, pulling Dipper closer into a tight hug.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mabel asked, after several long seconds of silence.

 

“No.” Dipper answered simply. She just wanted to go to sleep. Mabel appeared to have other intentions.

 

“Are you mad at me?” Mabel asked, pulling back from the hug to gauge Dipper's response.

 

“No!” Dipper insisted, her voice a little too loud for her own ears. She continued more softly. “No, Mabel, I'm not mad at you. How were you supposed to know that the guy was a shit?”

 

“You said from the start that you didn't want to go out with him. I shouldn't have pushed so hard. If I hadn't, then we'd be downstairs, in the middle of a Ducktective marathon, seeing if we could overdose on pizza. Why wouldn't you be mad at me?”

 

“Because,” Dipper started, feeling some color rise into her cheeks. She broke eye contact with her sister, her eyes dropping. She watched Mabel's chest rise and fall in time with her breath, trying to decide exactly how to proceed. “Because it's all my fault. I picked a fight with Jackson, I pushed him to violence, and I got my just deserts.”

 

“ _What_? What did you say that deserves this?” Mabel demanded, gesturing at Dipper's face.

 

“I really don't want to talk about it.” Dipper expected more arguing, but Mabel said nothing. She gave a defeated sigh, and rolled out of Dipper's bed, padding to the door, then out into the hallway. Dipper stared at the open door in mild confusion. She was expecting more resistance. Mabel returned a moment later, carrying a warm washcloth. She sat down on the edge of Dipper's bed, and eased her head into her lap, beginning to clean some of the dried blood off of her face. Dipper didn't fight against Mabel's ministrations. Her nosebleed had finally stopped, and it would be nice to get the rest of the mess off of her face. Mabel worked slowly, pressing the soothing warm washcloth against Dipper's face, slowly wiping away the last of the blood. When she finished, she pulled Dipper's face up with both hands, eyeing her critically.

 

“Good enough,” Mabel declared, tossing the washcloth in the pile with the rest of Dipper's cloths. “The swelling isn't too bad, but you're going to have a black eye, and you've got a cut right here. I don't think your nose is broken.”

 

“Thanks.” Dipper smiled, easing herself back down onto her bed. “Now, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to bed. Night, Mabes.”

 

“Night, Dipsy Daisy.” Mabel replied, but she didn't stand. Instead, Dipper felt her sister's arm circle around her waist, pulling her close as Mabel lifted Dipper's sheet over their shoulders. Mabel gave an exaggerated sigh of contentment, and snuggled deeper into Dipper's back.

 

Dipper felt a warmth spreading through her chest. Her sister was here. Everything was okay. She was asleep within minutes.

 

Dipper's dreams were a surreal, caricatured retelling of the events of the day. Throughout the night, she found herself sitting in front of a rapt audience, people hanging off her every word as she read from a script in the most droning, uninspired way she could. She dreamed herself fighting a comically oversized disembodied hand a la one of her favorite games (and losing, horribly). She dreamed that she was explaining the simplest of concepts to her family, but she kept getting tongue tied, and having to start over, much to their growing concern, and her mounting annoyance, but before she shouted and pulled her hair out in frustration, the dream changed again.

 

_Oh no._ Dipper's new dream took on less surreal aspects, though, at least to Dipper's mind, one no less grounded in fantasy. She found herself as she was, half dressed, laying in bed. Her fingers were threaded with Wendy's. Dipper's heart fluttered as their lips met, softly, sweetly at first, but growing in intensity. She could feel Wendy's hand tracing a line back and forth along her arm, her side, her hip, before making it's way lazily back again. She could feel herself staring to squirm when Wendy's hand deviated from that line, hooking a finger in her underwear, and gently beginning to tug.

 

“Dipper, would you quit fidgeting?” Mabel's voice, thick with sleep, cut through the dream like a hot knife. Dipper woke with a start. Their room was still dark, though Dipper couldn't check the time. She was still facing the wall, and Mabel had tightened her grip on her sister, preventing her from rolling over. Dipper readjusted as best as she could, flipping her pillow over, and burying her face in the cool underside. She needed coolness right now. Her body felt so hot.

 

Dipper's mind trailed off to the dream again, and she had to forcefully remind herself that Mabel was in the bed right next to her, so she absolutely _could not_ do exactly what she _very much_ wanted to. She let out a small, exasperated sigh, careful not to wake her sister. This wasn't exactly new. Dipper had had a crush on Wendy when she was younger, and though she had more or less gotten over it, the crush did like to rear it's head up when she least expected it. Especially on these summer trips to Oregon. They always made Dipper feel slightly guilty, though nowhere near as bad as the other girl that dominated her more risque dreams. Dipper squirmed uncomfortably again against Mabel's grip, causing the girl to groan in her sleep, pulling Dipper closer, and winding an arm tightly around her chest. Dipper sighed again. She wasn't getting out of this grip tonight. But then again, the scent of Mabel's lotion and shampoo was relaxing, the bed was comfortable, and there was something incredibly soothing about the sound of Mabel's breath in her ear. Maybe getting back to sleep wouldn't be too hard.

\- - -

 

“So,” Wendy said, leaning down to grab a few more Purple Pitts. “We're up to what? Skinning him and throwing him in bleach?” She laughed mirthlessly, returning to sit at the table, setting one of the drinks in front of Stan.

 

“No, no,” Stan shook his head, grabbing the Pitt. “We do it in rubbing alcohol, a whole bathtub full. It'll burn just as much, but then, we can set him on fire!”

 

“Dude. I like the way you think.” Wendy smiled, turning toward the sound of a closing door. Ford entered the room, setting down a few lumpy duffle bags with strange contraptions sticking out of either end. More of the 'boating supplies' he and Stan had been collecting all week.

 

“Well Stanley,” Ford said, walking toward the refrigerator, and reaching for a drink himself. “I don't know who 'he' is, but you two sound positively furious.”

 

“Did you hear that Dipper went out on a date?” Wendy asked.

 

“No, I was... busy.” Ford admitted, glancing at the bags.

 

“Well she did.” Demanded Stan. “And her date decided to get violent.” Ford snapped up, stepping toward them, his drink and the refrigerator door forgotten, a look of shock and anger on his face.

 

“Did he hurt her? Is she okay? Do you know who he is? Is she home?” Ford asked in rapid succession, reaching for something on his belt that wasn't there. He gave a sidelong glance to the duffle bags sitting by the entrance to the kitchen.

 

“Whoa, whoa, calm down, poindexter.” Stan placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. “She's here, Mabel's with her, she's getting the low down, all we have to do is sit and wait.” Wendy nodded.

 

“I think she's okay for the most part. But he messed up her face.” Wendy looked down at her hand, surprised to find it wet. She picked up the crumpled remains of a soda can she didn't remember crushing. “Sorry” Wendy added, tossing the can in the bin, and reaching for a mop. Ford took a calming breath.

 

“No, I don't think we have to wait on anything.” Ford said, returning to pick up the bags he had dropped.

 

“What?” Stan asked. “You know how to find the guy?”

 

“Nope.” Ford said simply, making his way toward the secret door behind the vending machine. “These revenge fantasies aren't doing a thing for Dipper. I'll help her however she'll let me, but I'm not going to sit here and make you feel better.” And with that, he was gone, the vending machine closing behind him with a soft hiss.

 

Stan grumbled incoherently, grabbing Ford's unopened soda and setting it down on the table in front of Wendy.

 

“Maybe McGucket has some spare battery acid.” Stan offered, but the bite had left his voice. Wendy just sat, drinking her Pitt. She felt guilty, and Ford's words had stung. Mabel had gotten mad at them too, for starting all of this revenge stuff instead of listening to Dipper. Wendy sunk a little lower in her chair, trying to hide her shame and the rising color in her cheeks. If Stan noticed, he didn't say anything. His own revenge had devolved into quiet grumbling, though now it seemed to be as much about Ford as anyone else.

 

“I'm going to go watch TV.” Stan addressed the room. He stood, collecting the empty cans, tossing them in the general direction of Soos's new recycling bin. “You're welcome to stay and wait on them, or whatever.” He added to Wendy, then left. She sat for a while in silence, listening to the too-loud television in the other room, finishing the last of her soda. She glanced at the clock on the wall, and upended her Pitt, draining the last few sips from the bottom, and stood to leave.

 

“Maybe I should pop in and say good night?” She asked herself, but she stopped at the base of the stairs, thinking back to Mabel's annoyed face, and Dipper. Now that she's had time to think, Dipper was plainly distraught at their reaction, and she, Wendy, had all but ignored Dipper's pleas to stop. Dipper didn't want to see her now, even if she was still awake. Wendy sighed, and turned, striding out of the door, toward her truck. It was late anyway. Her dad was probably waiting up on her, and she really should get some sleep.

\- - -

 

“ _Diiiiiper,_ are you awake?” Mabel asked, poking her sister in the back of the head. Dipper groaned, and turned in her direction.

 

“You know I'm not.” Dipper accused, keeping her eyes tightly shut. The bed was far to comfortable, and the sleep was far too nice to be interrupted by something as trivial as daytime. Dipper felt Mabel's hands on her face again, though this time, they weren't poking. Dipper pulled her head back with a hiss of pain, grabbing the eye Mabel had been inspecting. The events of the previous night seemed to crash down on Dipper with that lance of pain, and she found herself grumbling. All the more reason not to get out of bed today.

 

“We need to see to that cut, sis.” Mabel demanded, rolling out of bed. Dipper took the opportunity to grab her covers and pull them far over her head, wrapping herself up in defense from the intruding sunlight.

 

“Later,” came Dipper's muffled reply.

 

“Really?” Mabel asked, tugging at the sheet. “You smell that? I'm pretty sure that's for you.”

 

Dipper pulled her head out of her sheet long enough to give the air an experimental sniff. Her mouth immediately began to water. From the smell, Stan was making pancakes. Their Grunkles frequent sailing trips landed them in all manner of exotic ports, and strange lands, and Stan was always bringing back his favorite recipes and foods, but there was something special about his pancakes, at least in Dipper's mind.

 

There was no getting around it, Dipper couldn't fight off that smell. She crawled out of bed, grumbling out of habit, and started pulling drawers open, looking for something to wear. She came across a pair of plain gray pajama bottoms, and looked down at her tank top.

 

_That's as good as it's going to get_. Dipper groggily felt her way into one pant leg, then the other, and, still somewhat sleep addled, hitched the pants up, and made her way down the hall. Dipper made a stop by her bathroom, and began her short morning ritual before breakfast. She emptied her bladder, made sure the worst of the tangles were out of her hair before pulling it into a loose ponytail, and grabbed one of the toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet. She had long since lost track of which one was hers, and which was Mabel's. They had both been painted, they both sported sequins and glitter. All sense of what color they may have been at one time was long since gone.

 

It was while she was brushing her teeth that Dipper's eyes fell on the discarded piece of tissue paper that she had first used to try to wipe away the worst of her bloody nose. She stopped, picking the wad up, turning it over and over in her hands. She gave a grimace, a bit of toothpaste and saliva dribbling out of the side of her mouth. Dipper really couldn't stand another scene like last night. She tossed the blood covered wad in the commode, flushing it angrily, before resolutely returning to her toothbrush. _No barrage of questions this morning. No barrage of questions this morning. As if repeating it would make it any more likely._

 

Dipper caught up with Mabel, who was apparently already ready to greet the day, complete with actual clothes, at the top of the stairwell, and proceeded to follow her twin downstairs, and into the kitchen. Stan had apparently gone all out. There were more pancakes then they could possibly eat, flanked by whipped cream, sprinkles (for Mabel), nearly a dozen different kinds of fruit, chocolate, peanut better, five kinds of syrup, honey, and all manner of other, more exotic things that Dipper didn't recognize. Ford was up, he had a small plate that he seemed to occasionally nibble on. He had an atlas in one hand, and a hand drawn map in the other, occasionally balancing them to pen in some note or observation. He nodded as the twins entered, but otherwise made no comment.

 

Mabel immediately set out to cover her plate of pancakes in everything within reach, whether she knew what it was or not, covering it all in a generous application of whipped cream and sprinkles. Dipper fixed a somewhat smaller plate, allowing herself some bananas and strawberries, and topped it all with honey before sitting down next to Mabel, who was busy asking about some new spice Dipper didn't quite catch the name of.

 

Dipper resolved to eat in silence, sitting down, meeting no one's eye, as she cut up and bit into her pancakes. A few bites in, and she began to smile in spite of herself. They were heavenly, and travel was only making Stan a better cook. At Mabel's prompt, Dipper mumbled her thanks and appreciation through a mouthful of food.

 

After Dipper had cleared her plate twice, Ford set his work aside, and gave her a hard stare from across the table.

 

“Yes?” Dipper asked, running her fork through the last of the honey on her plate. _Here we go again_.

 

“I heard about your altercation.” Ford said. Dipper nodded, setting her fork on her plate before Ford continued. “Do you want help?”

 

“Nope.” Dipper said, looking Ford in the eye. He looked concerned, but not overly worried. He held her gaze for a moment, then returned to his map.

 

“Okay.” Ford said, not looking up.

 

“Wait, what?” Stan asked, setting his own plate down. “That's it? Surely you've got some invention down in that lab of yours that can fry the little creep.”

 

“As a matter of fact I do, Stanley, but if Dipper says she's got it under control, then I trust her.” Ford looked up at Dipper again. “Then again, if it comes to light that this matter _is_ out of your control, then I _will_ get more involved.”

 

There was none of the spur of the moment anger in his declaration that everyone else seemed to have, just a quiet intensity, one that made Dipper feel cold. Dipper nodded mutely, and, once again, Ford returned to his work. Ford's speech seemed to have placated Stan, who shrugged and busied himself with his breakfast to keep from grumbling.

 

There was sound and motion outside. Dipper could hear the telltale sound of Wendy's truck pulling in, which meant that her, Soos, and Melody were coming to work, which meant people, more importantly tourists, and not something Dipper had any inclination to deal with. Dipper stood to leave, tipping her plate in the sink as she went, preparing herself for more freaking out. They key to the lock was turning just as Dipper was coming in to the living room, and Soos was already emerging through the door, his now-standard suit and fez in evidence. Dipper sighed, lightly. _Well, no avoiding this I guess._

 

“'Sup dog?” Soos asked, coming inside, giving Dipper a pat on the shoulder. He and Melody shared the same sympathetic smile, their gaze drifting to Dipper's black eye. _Wendy must have warned them._

 

“Hey, Soos, Mel, what's up?” Dipper said, smiling lightly. Ford didn't freak, and neither did they. Today was looking up.

 

“Eh,” Melody said, shrugging. “We're trying to think of new attractions. I was thinking something a little _Six Nights at Sam's_ , Soos wants something a little more authentic.”

 

“Well, if you want scary and authentic, you can just show them Dipper's bed head. Hey-oh!” Mabel said, bouncing into the room after Dipper. Mabel grinned widely at her twin, who just looked back, unimpressed. Mabel stuck out her tongue, then added, “not her sense of humor though, that stinks.”

 

Mabel looked around, expecting a chuckle. Melody coughed into her hand uncomfortably, and Soos seemed to be busying himself with something behind the counter in the show room.

 

“Gee, tough crowd.” Mabel said, adjusting her headband.

 

“Well, Dipper,” Soos said, walking back in to the room. “What do you think?”

 

“About?” Dipper hung on the last syllable, waiting.

 

“The attraction, dude.” Soos finished.

 

“Oh, right.” _Duh, that thing they just said, Dipstick._ “Definitely _Six Nights at Sam's_. Authenticity doesn't sell, we already discovered that. If these people want authenticity, let them get lost in the Oregon backwoods. That's authentic enough.”

 

“Ha! I told you.” Melody said, laughingly.

 

“ _Dude_ ,” Soos said, turning toward Dipper. “What happened to bros? We used to be bros. I was the big bro, you were the little bro. What happened to that?”

 

“Puberty?” Dipper offered, shrugging.

 

“I'll say. No mistaking you for a bro now.” Wendy said, walking in. She was carrying a large lumpy bag, and a vaguely humanoid wire frame. “What? You know Stan always likes to make a new attraction when he's in town.” She handed her materials off to Soos, who retreated into the kitchen along with Melody and Mabel, saying something about smelling pancakes. Dipper watched them leave, then turned back to see Wendy awkwardly holding one arm, blushing slightly.

 

“Hey,” Dipper said, though her confusion was mounting. Wendy looked out of place, and embarrassed. Wendy was biting her lip, and there was a pink tinge to her cheeks, and it reminded of Dipper of the dream that she was having the night before. Dipper's gaze trailed from her eyes, to the freckles on her cheek, to her lips, to her throat, then, there were other freckles, peeking out from the collar of her shirt, and- _Oh, god, I need some air._

 

“Hey,” Wendy replied. “Look, I'm-”

 

“It's cool.” Dipper said, turning to leave. She could feel her face flushing, and was suddenly feeling very under dressed. Wendy caught Dipper's arm as she turned, stepping closer.

 

“Come on, man. Don't be like that. I'm trying to apologize.” Wendy said. Something in Wendy's voice stopped Dipper. She sounded upset, and unsure, like she was afraid of Dipper's reaction. Dipper turned back to face Wendy, who had let go of her, and had gone back to standing, somewhat awkwardly.

 

“I've never seen you at a loss for words before.” Dipper said. She smiled slightly, trying her best not to let her eyes wander, or look as rattled as she felt. _Come on, stupid brain! Think about something else!_

 

“I just, I feel like crap about the way I acted last night. I was being all pissed, when I should have been listening to you. We cool?”

 

“We're cool.” Dipper insisted. “Cool enough that you can have some of my pancakes.”

 

“Dude, sweet! I'm starving. Let's eat.” Wendy smiled, transitioning back into the cool, collected girl she usually was.

 

“I'll meet you in there. I've got to get a shower.” _A long, cold shower_.

 

Without waiting for an answer, Dipper bolted back up the stairs, digging through a drawer for some real clothes to wear. In short order, she had some semblance of clothing, and found herself in the bathroom, stepping into the shower, the cold water prickling her hot skin. Dipper breathed a sigh of relief. She was cooling down, and the cool water was soothing against her eye, which had started to sting. She stayed in the shower as long as she dared, for the moment, not thinking on the events of the previous day, or anything else, just letting the cool water run through her hair and down her face, washing away her pent up aggravation and anxiety.

 

When Dipper finally left the shower, she was surprised to find herself smiling, looking back at herself in the mirror. Her smile faltered somewhat as a hand touched her tender black eye, and ran her finger along the small cut below her eyebrow. Dipper pulled open the medicine cabinet, looking for disinfectant and a bandage, knowing that if she didn't bandage it, Mabel was going to, probably with some absurdly pink band-aid.

 

It took only a moment, and, with that done, Dipper felt more prepared to deal with the day. She stopped in her room, picking up a cell phone, before tentatively returning downstairs, checking first, to make sure that there were no tourists. Wendy, Melody, and Soos were all busy preparing the store to open, so the first person Dipper ran into was Stan, still standing in the kitchen, gluing what appeared to be ears of corn to a humanoid wire frame.

 

“Hey, sweetie.” Stan said, not looking up from his current project. “You just missed your sister. Mabel and Wendy left to go get food.”

 

“But we just ate!” Demanded Dipper, looking around at the kitchen, toppings still laid out, half of the counter space covered in flower.

 

“For _later_ , Dipper.” Stan countered, raisin an eyebrow at her niece. “Normal people eat more than once a day.”

 

“I eat more than once a day!” Dipper sat down in mock anger. “Speaking of, are there any leftover pancakes?”

 

Dipper didn't catch Stan's laughing reply. Her phone buzzed, and she dug it out of her pocket. _Who in the world would be texting me? Oh._ Dipper groaned inwardly. Today had been going so well. She opened the text from Jackson, knowing well what it would be before she read it.

 

“ _I think we should talk about last night. Can we meet up?_ ” This was not going to go well.

 


End file.
